Galway Advertiser 1991/1991_11_07/GA_07111991_E1_021.pdf 

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MARYO'CONNOR
J o u r n a l i s t M a r y O ' C o n n o r a n d p h o t o g r a p h e r M i k e S h a u g h n e s s y w e r e i n v i t e d t o P a r i s r e c e n t l y b y t h e O s c a r d e la R e n ta F a s h i o n H o u s e t o v i e w t h e h a u t e c o u t u r i e r ' s S p r i n g '92 Collection. A f t e r w a r d s t h e y a t t e n d e d his e x c l u s i v e p a r t y for the fashion set o n a cruiser o n the R i v e r Seine.

Oscar de la Kenta's Spring '92 collection ex ploded onto the catwalk in a fiesta of colour. First darkness. Then a blaze of light t r a c e d the fluid movements of the super models as they swept along the catwalk, holding the 1,000 guests spellbound. The inspiration for his 132 outfit collection was the Caribbean, his home, which is celebrating the 500th an niversary of its discovery by Christopher Columbus. The show staged in an elegant fashion marquee in the courtyards of the Louvre attracted the world's rich and famous and its top fashion buyers. Madame de Rotschild, Madame de Pompodieu, wife of the late French President, former Chanel model, Ines de la Fressange, who now owns a classy boutique on the Avenue Montaigne, were all there. Buyers from B l o o m ingdales, Harrods and the world's biggest and most famous stores sat, pens pois ed, deciding what to order for next year. Designers were out in force too including Dublin born Peter O' Brien of Madame Rochas, all wat ching the de la Renta Spring story unfold. The world's press were well represented also. The Americans, Japanese and Europeans all vied for pride of place next to the ramp. The society columnists were there, people spotting. Guests were exquisitely dressed. But the style was all understated. No one dripped

OSCAR. THE Kim!
with diamonds or rubies or wore fire engine red lipstick. The men wore Armani and D i o r w h i l e many women opted for Chanel style suits or glittering cocktail dresses in taffeta. Full length black leather coats were popular too. The capacity audience, many of whom had to stand at the back, poured into the hall minutes before the show erupted in a krakatoa of energy and dazzling colour. Dashing young Fren chmen in e x p e n s i v e l y tailored navy suits, who all seeemed to be called Olivier or Pierre, ushered guests to their seats. There was no compere, no flashy lights or space age effects at the show. The de la Renta logo was emblazon ed at the back of the ramp. That and his classy simple white programmes were his only concession to self publicity. No one mention the cost of the garments. It was a case of "If you have to ask, you can't afford." De la Renta's long lean dresses, slit dangerously to the thigh drew many admir ing glances. The audience were warm and responsive fullscale production. Many are purely theatrical presen tations, designed to stun and exaggerate the designer's statement. Suddenly, it was all over. Oscar de la Renta was mak ing his way down the ramp, linking his models and beaming at the sea of faces. When the music stopped, everyone left immediately. Some to their waiting limousines and the cocktail party on the Seine. Others to fill their order books for 1992. This writer was not that type of journalist, I insisted. In Ireland we were full of in tegrity and highly developed morals and were all descen dants of saints I assured him. He was suitably impress ed and raised his glass to journalists with noble motives and saintly ancestry. Madame Camus appeared out of nowhere, brandishing a black Margaret Thatcher style handbag and a very determined expression. She was representing her son, a party in glorious colour fot her son. What was she to do? The Advertiser sprang to her rescue, offering her a new film. Within minutes we were blood sisters.

B A D LEG
I knew in seconds about her bad leg. her apartments in Cannes and Paris and her penchant for smoked salmon. We sat like two gig gling schoolgirls, watching this exclusive world go by. '"Quick, the camera,"she bellowed in my left ear. "Who? Who?"'I demand ed, rising to my feet. Everyone stopped in their tracks, in silent admiration. Oscar de la Renta moved through the crowd, king like, commanding attention A better looking version of Prince Philip, he was sunkissed and impeccably dressed in navy. He has not the tortured look of French Fashion genius, Yves Saint Laurent. De la Renta is con fident, charismatic and at ease with success. Madame struck first. She fashion executive in extended her hand and Panama. before you could said She had just used her lasi "Bienvenue" had wrapped film and was devastated She wanted to capture the

HONEY TANS
The 40 minute show mov ed at a frenetic pace. Throb bing tropical music filled the hall as the world's top models, reputed to earn $10,000 a day, sashayed down the catwalk. They are the longest, leanest and loveliest in the business. All boast honey tans and well sculpted features. They have presence, allure and magnetism and one had a tatty bandage stuck to her beautifully shaped ankle. Naomi Campbell, former escort of Mike Tyson and Robert de Niro, is one of the supermodel corps. So too are Linda Evangelista and Claudia Schiffer. They model at shows in Milan, Paris and New York and adorn the glossy magazines frequently.

THE KING AND I!
and greeted his more exotic C H A M P A G N E A N D concotion with uproarious PUNCH applause. Not all of the fashions T h e e n t r a n c e to the debuted will make it into cruiser was dotted with security men. They accepted the simple white invitations and gestured towards the brightly lit barge. Streams of guests filed past, as rock and soul music filled the evening air. Inside, people edged their way to the bar. Someone asked for orange juice. They only served champagne and exotic punch. A lot of both. Designers mingled with buyers and the very rich. A designer with famous French couturier, Pierre Cardin tripped over the Advertiser. He apologised effusively - and in perfectly modulated English. He had never met anyone from Ireland before. He wasn't wild about jour nalists. They were rarely in vited to after show parties, he said. They snooped too much.

him in a warm embrace. Then she flung her camera at an innocent bystander and insisted he captured the moment. What Madame could do, the Advertiser could do bet ter. We had not come all the way from Galway to be out done by a Frenchwoman with a will of steel. Oscar came was face to face with this writer. I desperately wanted to say something deep and mean ingful that would root him to the ground but all that came out was a sort of whine. Our eyes met and he smil ed. I smiled and went for gold. I congratulated him on his collection and shook hands. "You came from Ireland, what a long way to come for a story," he exclaimed. We talked about style, fashion and Galway by the sea. I was so absorbed that I failed to notice Madame and her camera sneak up on us. "Hold it right there." she demanded. "I've got it," she beamed triumphantly. "The two of you." My new blood sister had immortalis ed my brush with genius in Paris.

THE FINAL BOW--Oscar de la Renta with his bevy of beauties.

TWO IN A CROWD-No one can resist instan comment.